


one more present

by blackeyedblonde



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Birthday Smut, Body Worship, Bottom Connor, Confident Connor, Established Relationship, Future Fic, Light Dirty Talk, Love, M/M, Oral Sex, Pet Names, old man objectification (and appreciation), praise & reassurance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:02:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23445940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedblonde/pseuds/blackeyedblonde
Summary: Hank's face is hot, and he feels hot all over despite the cool air moving through the spacious room. The curtains are still open overlooking downtown Detroit but they don’t reach to close them. Connor smiles, pleased, and squeezes Hank through the thin layer of fabric separating his bare skin from everything else.“It’s your birthday, Hank,” he says, matter-of-factly, the primness of his clothing and demeanor oddly juxtaposed with the same moment he palms Hank’s heavy dick and coaxes it out of the slit in his briefs. “You deserve something special.”
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 24
Kudos: 237





	one more present

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plutoandpersephone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutoandpersephone/gifts).



> This is a commission for the wonderful Pluto! Thank you for being so incredibly patient and for working with me 💖
> 
> No real warnings in this that I haven't tagged, I don't think. Hank and Connor are MARRIED, because duh. Old news there. Lots of praise and pet names and lite body worshiping. It's wholesome with a teeny-tiny pinch of dirty, what can I say? Hope you enjoy!

  
  


The party itself wraps up just a few minutes shy of midnight. It could’ve gone on for at least another hour or two, the hotel concierge’s unflappable endurance permitting, but by half past eleven most of the people with morning shifts at the precinct or elsewhere are starting to grow long and weary in the face until Hank brings it up to Connor, once again, that he's not exactly some rowdy young buck anymore. 

“Let’s call it a night,” he says down in the bar, thick fingers leaving prints in the condensation on his second glass of water to help wash down the heavier stuff. Behind Connor a few more people wave goodbye and wished Hank another round of _happy birthdays_ before gathering their coats up and heading for the door. “I’m getting too old for all this.” 

Connor raises an eyebrow, leaning there with his narrow hip wedged against the polished wood of the bartop. He’s close enough that Hank’s knee brushes his thigh where he’s got his legs casually crossed, and the warmth of close contact passes through their dress slacks enough that Hank wants to just keep leaning further into Connor until there’s nothing left between them. 

“You keep saying that, but I’m not entirely convinced,” Connor tuts, hitching a hand up on his hip. He’s smiling, though, and Hank feels his own mouth turning up at the corners just looking at his husband trying not to grin. “You’ve out-danced people nearly half your age tonight.”

“And I’m gonna pay the price for that in the morning, chief,” Hank says with a pointed look. He downs one last gulp of ice water and pushes his finished glass away, sighing around the coldness. “Matter of fact, you may have to carry me upstairs after everybody leaves.” 

Connor’s eyes gleam, the brown there bright and vivid like chips of jasper. He leans in close so his lips graze the shell of Hank’s ear and says, “Don’t tempt me, Lieutenant. I may do it before they go home.” 

Before Hank can even think to react, Jeff is standing behind him, squeezing Hank’s shoulder and pressing an embossed envelope into his hands as the last of the other partygoers slip out into the night. “From me and the missus,” he says, nodding at Connor as the android smiles and steps back with the suave air of a sleek cat who snagged the canary for dinner. “Did you plan all this, Connor? Sure beats the hell out of my 60th.” 

“I did,” Connor says, sounding humbly gracious and just the tiniest bit smug to Hank’s well-trained ear. Then comes the edge of sarcasm and a glint of amused light in his eyes. “Once Hank was fully aware of his own surprise party and we got that hurdle out of the way, it was a lot easier to plan a gathering I knew he’d enjoy.” 

Jeff catches Hank’s eye and winks. “Still don’t do well with surprises, huh?” he asks, thumping him on the back. “Glad nothing’s changed in thirty-five years.”

“Not a damn thing,” Hank says, grinning as he waves Fowler off. They both know that isn’t true, not by a mile, but neither feel the need to challenge it. “See ya later, Jeff. Thanks for coming out.” 

When the Captain’s gone it’s just Hank, Connor, and the bartender steadily cleaning up at the other end of the bar, gathering glasses and clinking bottles while the light at her temple shines like a blue jewel in the hotel’s golden lighting. There’s a small mess scattered about the room at large—paper streamers, a table full of a few wrapped parcels and gift bags, beer bottles and empty martini glasses, hors d'oeuvres long since gone cold and a half-eaten chocolate cake—but nothing the concierge hasn’t already started cleaning up as he breezes into the room and heads their way with a bright smile. 

“What a lovely night we’ve had in your honor, Mr. Anderson,” he says, depositing a few empty glasses on the table behind them before stepping up to the bar. “I hope everything was to your satisfaction with our service and staff?” 

“Uh, definitely more than,” Hank says, face growing hot. His eyes stay settled firmly on Connor even as he speaks to the concierge. “This is the best birthday I’ve had in years. Hell, maybe even longer than I can remember anymore.” 

“I’m glad to hear it,” the third man says, sounding sincere despite the late hour. He looks between them both and clears his throat a bit. “I’m not sure if you’re ready to retire for the evening, but the room upstairs has been turned down and prepared for your stay. Obviously we’ll take care of everything down here and pack your gifts up, if you’d like.” 

Hank opens his mouth to politely mention he’s more than capable of cleaning up after himself, thank you very much, but Connor beats him to the punch. “Thank you for everything,” he tells the concierge as he goes to lightly touch Hank’s arm, momentarily quieting anything he was about to say. “I think we’re both ready to call it a night.”

They’d only booked one night away from home, and Hank had initially groused a bit about it being only a twenty-minute drive from the house—”Don’t waste your money, Con, I don’t need to stay in a different bed in the same city, for Christ’s sake”—, but he’d eventually come around to the idea. They had a dog sitter coming over in the evening and again in the morning, and things would be just fine for one overnight stay, Connor stressed. Besides, he’d added, sweetening the deal with a kiss or two in that soft spot on Hank’s neck that always made him flush and heat up, every day wasn’t your birthday. 

And so, leaving the luxurious wooden barroom and concierge behind, they walk down the grand hall and over to the glass elevator that will take them up to a spacious corner room on the fifth floor. Stepping off the elevator into the empty hallway, Connor hooks their arms together and leans in to whisper in Hank’s ear, sweet and low. 

“I haven’t forgotten about carrying you,” he murmurs, the devious little shit. It makes the leftover alcohol in Hank’s blood heat up enough to make him sweat, but he tries to wave his own flustered thoughts away with a laugh and swat against Connor’s tight backside. 

“Maybe another time, sugar,” he says, because they quickly walk up to the door of their lodgings for the evening. “Looks like we’re already here.” 

The door itself is polished mahogany with shiny brass hardware, something of a rare sight in Detroit these days, but it’s long since been outfitted with an electronic panel that Connor swipes a programmed fob over. When the door clicks open and swings inward, they’re greeted with a handsomely furnished room overlooking the city skyline through a wide bay window. The bed has been turned down, as promised, and two terry cloth robes and sets of slippers have been laid out in anticipation of their arrival. 

Hank lets out a low whistle as he steps in ahead of Connor and gives the place a lingering once-over. He bypasses the tiled bathroom and walks over to throw his suit jacket across the bed before dropping down in a leather armchair in one corner of the room. He sighs, long and raggedly, before stooping over to start pulling the laces on one of his dress shoes. 

Hank can feel Connor’s approach more than he can hear it. He doesn’t even need to look up to know Connor’s standing there, eyes bright, watching him. 

“You looked so handsome tonight, Hank,” he says, soft and genuine. Hank sets his shoes aside and looks up at his husband’s smooth, youthful face. It hasn’t aged or changed a day in seven years. Every tiny detail and imperfection is exactly as it was the moment Hank first laid eyes on him in that dim bar. If only he’d taken the time, then, to really, fully _look_.

“Not as handsome as you,” Hank says, suddenly feeling very tired despite the familiar, easy warmth blooming through his chest. “I’m about two decades past my prime and it’s starting to show. Over the hill? I passed the fuckin’ hill ten years ago.” 

Connor’s LED doesn’t turn red, but it cycles yellow for a few long moments while his brow slightly furrows. “You don’t have to speak about yourself that way,” he says, trying to meet Hank’s eye even though he’s looking elsewhere. “Tonight was meant to celebrate _you_ and everything you’ve accomplished in your life so far, Hank. Which is so much more than you’d ever give yourself credit for.” 

Hank swallows guiltily, hearing Connor say that. It’s true, and he feels like shit for sounding ungrateful—but that doesn’t quite change or scrub away the other things he’s feeling. 

“You threw a wonderful party, baby,” he sighs, and when he holds out a hand Connor reaches down and takes it, squeezing gently. “I couldn’t have asked for anything better.” 

“Then what’s wrong?” Connor asks, curling his fingers more tightly into Hank’s. “You were laughing and dancing with me an hour ago.”

Hank sighs and props an elbow on his spread knee, bringing Connor’s perfect hand up to press his mouth against the artificial joint between his husband’s thumb and pointer finger. Somehow admitting things is both easier and harder, when he’s talking to Connor. Easy because he loves and trusts him so goddamn much, and hard because of...well. Maybe the same things. 

“I’m just getting _old_ , Con,” Hank mumbles against the back of Connor’s hand. “There’s no other way around it, y’know? My back aches and my knees are bad and every day I go to work, some well-meaning asshole asks me when the fuck I’m going to hurry up and retire.”

It’s Connor who sighs this time, just one gentle breath between parted lips. He shifts and then Hank watches as he kneels there on the carpet, still in his tailored slacks and dress shoes. He scoots forward between the spread of Hank’s thighs and places a hand on each knee. 

“I love these bad knees,” Connor says, and then tips his face up to look at Hank with a sly smile. “Maybe I’ll be able to interface with the replacements.” 

“That’ll be the day,” Hank snorts, wiping a hand over his beard, shaking his head. “Christ, I’m just falling apart one nut and bolt at a time.” 

“We’re not so different, then, are we?” Connor says, rubbing his hands down Hank’s thighs. It feels nice, but Hank’s had enough alcohol that his sorry old johnson is going to need a little more convincing before it calls in the cavalry. “You’re perfect like you are, Hank. Every year you get older, I find something I love about you even more than before.” 

Hank flushes at that, sparse lashes cast low. He’s no stranger to Connor’s earnest way of speaking anymore, but sometimes the open frankness still manages to catch him off guard. 

“I didn’t mean to sit here and throw myself a pity party,” he mumbles, running a hand up Connor’s arm to the strong curve of his shoulder, squeezing with hopes it drives his point and lingering embarrassment home. “It is what it is.” 

Connor smiles, eyes suddenly gone shrewd and fox-like. He hunkers down some there between Hank’s legs and pillows his cheek on one thigh, looking up at Hank while his fingers gently travel down the back of his calf. Connor doesn’t stop until he finds the bare skin under the cuffed hem of Hank’s slacks and hooks two fingers under the elastic of a dress sock. 

“I think I have one more present for you,” he says, LED blinking cool sapphire. 

“Oh yeah?” Hank grunts, eyebrows raising a hair. He knows how to play this tried and true game but somehow it never does get old. “I thought all my gifts were still downstairs.” 

“Not this one,” Connor says deviously, fingertips toying with the silver buckle on Hank’s belt now. “Do you think you’d want to open it tonight?”   
  
Hank blows out a long breath between pursed lips, settling back more comfortably in the chair so the spread between his thighs widens. He looks down at Connor peering up at him and strokes under his husband’s chin, not so unlike petting a sleek cat. 

“Well, that depends,” Hank says, thick fingers tracing the sharp edge of Connor’s jaw. “You still wanna fuck an old man?” He means it to sound sexy, playful, but the thread of somber tiredness there is unmistakable. 

If Connor hears it—and he undoubtedly does, because this is _Connor_ —he doesn’t say anything about it. But his pupils immediately dilate and that utter look of fervent determination comes over his face, like a bloodhound with a working scent. It makes the hair on Hank’s arms prickle in anticipation. 

“I have only ever wanted to fuck old men,” Connor says, some of the rasp edging into his voice. He pulls the tail of Hank’s belt through the buckle and pops the prong out with enough strength and finesse that the silver makes a metallic _ping_ noise. “One old man in particular, as a matter of fact.”   
  
Hank can’t help but smile, wrinkling his nose to try and quell it. “He must be lucky, whoever he is.” 

“Maybe,” Connor says, unthreading the belt and undoing the top button on Hank’s slacks. “I always thought I was the lucky one.” He pulls the zipper down and then doesn’t dig any further, though his fingers rest delicately right there over the bulge in Hank’s trousers. 

Connor looks up and their eyes meet again, pale cornflower on amber. “Do you want your present, or not?” 

Hank feels his cock twitch, and then again as it slowly begins to fill. “I think I’d be a fool to turn down anything from you,” he says, voice rumbling low in his chest. 

His face is hot, and he feels hot all over despite the cool air moving through the spacious room. The curtains are still open overlooking downtown Detroit but they don’t reach to close them. Connor smiles, pleased, and squeezes Hank through the thin layer of fabric separating his bare skin from everything else. 

“It’s your birthday, Hank,” he says, matter-of-factly, the primness of his clothing and demeanor oddly juxtaposed with the same moment he palms Hank’s heavy dick and coaxes it out of the slit in his briefs. “You deserve something special.” 

Not quite yet at full mast, the thick shaft leans over heavily to one side, and Hank groans aloud. “You know I’m getting too goddamn old for your marathon antics and teasing,” he mumbles, already feeling heat tighten and bloom across his chest with the burn of arousal. “This might be over before it even gets started.” 

“I wasn’t planning on teasing you,” Connor says, wetting his bottom lip with the pink tip of his tongue. He fondles Hank’s balls through his briefs with one hand and licks the base of Hank’s cock, dragging upward along that thick vein in one slow, maddening stroke. “Just reminding you how handsome and adored you are.” 

“Oh Jesus,” Hank groans, in the same moment Connor pops the rosy tip of his cock into his wet mouth and sucks on the fat head. “Fuck, Con.” 

Connor reaches for Hank’s dress shirt and pulls the tail out before he starts undoing the buttons with machine-level accuracy, tongue never once letting up with its attention on Hank’s cock. When the button-down is open he pushes Hank’s white undershirt up to reveal his belly, palm resting there on Hank’s gut while he gently kneads the warm skin.

It tickles just a little, but Hank isn’t laughing. He squirms some in the chair, huffing with the world’s cruelest mixture of arousal and mortification. Connor’s seen him buck-ass naked a thousand times but he doesn’t know if he wants to keep feeling like some kind of spectacle tonight. Connor isn’t the barest bit phased, and when Hank opens his mouth to say something his husband drops down on his shaft until the head nudges into the soft silicone sleeve at the back of his throat. 

Hank grips the arms of the chair and hisses out a swear word like a slashed tire. “That was foul play,” he rasps, feeling a little lightheaded now that all the blood in his body has rushed southward. “You enjoying yourself, huh?” 

Connor slowly pulls away one inch at a time with his lips stretched wide until he pops off the end of Hank’s dick and holds it there like an ice lolly he’d just been slurping on. There’s artificial saliva shining at the corner of his mouth. The gel in his hair is starting to come loose, and that cowlick is threatening to fall against his forehead at any moment. 

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Connor asks, leaning forward to nuzzle into Hank’s bare belly before pressing a kiss there below his navel. “I love your body. I love making you feel good.” 

Hank harrumphs and then winces when he realizes it makes him sound like even _more_ of a crotchety old man. “I know, Con,” he starts, jaw working in place for a moment. “I just—I don’t know. You don’t have to prove any points to me just because it’s my birthday, y’know? We’re way past all that.” 

Connor’s LED flares and he grips Hank’s knees as he stands straight up, forehead furrowed. Hank feels pretty damn stupid with his gut and his cock hanging out, but Connor is looking directly into his face, merciless. 

“Henry Anderson,” he says, voice more subdued than his stony expression would merit. “Come over here and get in bed. Right now.” 

Hank blinks in surprise but doesn’t open his mouth to argue. He sits there for a moment too long, though, because Connor takes a step back and arches an eyebrow, still waiting. 

“Alright, I’m going, Christ,” Hank says, standing with a grunt. One hand presses his dick against his thigh and the other is holding his slacks up. He shuffles on socked feet over to the side of the big bed and takes a seat, feeling the mattress give under his weight. “You happy?” 

“Not yet,” Connor says, promptly coming over to begin undressing Hank with purpose. “Up,” he says, and Hank rises enough for Connor to pull his pants down until they pool in the floor. It’s one part humiliating to be undressed like an invalid and two parts sexy, because Connor looks like he’s ready to devour Hank alive and then spit out his bones. 

“I’ve got it,” Hank mumbles, unsnapping his cufflinks before setting them on the bedside table. He shrugs out of his shirt and the one underneath it until he’s completely naked, save for the gold band on his left ring finger. 

“Much better,” Connor says primly, and then places three fingers in the middle of Hank’s chest to push him back against the pillows. Hank goes willingly, and then Connor is unbuttoning his own clothing and carefully setting the folded garments aside before sliding into bed himself to straddle across his husband’s thighs. 

Hank’s hands immediately go to settle low on Connor’s hips in a mindless reflex. Connor’s down to his socks and garters, the satin black of his undershorts still concealing what lies beneath. Nothing is tenting there, yet, and Hank imagines he may be in for a new surprise altogether. But when he tries to thumb against Connor’s groin, Connor rises up on his knees and scoots back until he’s kneeling there above Hank on the bed, hands braced on either side of his body. 

“You don’t know how handsome you are,” Connor says softly. It’s completely genuine but Hank still feels sweat prickle somewhere between his shoulder blades, and he makes a choked sound when Connor leans in to suck a love bite over the ridge of his collarbone. “No matter how many times I’ve told you and will keep telling you.” 

Connor’s mouth drags lower, teeth grazing over the topmost portions of Hank’s tattoo, pristine enamel against faded ink feathers. Hank shivers and closes his eyes, feeling his cock bob where it’s resting against the crease of his thigh. 

“None of that,” he grumbles, reaching up anyway to push his fingers through Connor’s hair at the crown of his head. “I don’t need to hear—ah, _shit!_ ” 

Connor smiles against the pebbled nipple in his mouth, wrapping his lips around it and sucking the softer skin into his mouth. Hank’s chest is warm and still undeniably sturdy but it’s still softened a bit as he’s gotten older. Some of the hair is turning white and his pecs offer a satisfying handful to squeeze, which makes Hank yelp again. 

“So sensitive,” Connor tuts, dragging his tongue down from Hank’s nipple to the scar near his ribs. A pleased purr hums in his chassis while he kisses a trail over imperfections and the coarse hair on Hank’s belly leading down to his groin. Connor’s grip on Hank’s love handles never does falter, and his strength holds his husband’s hips in place when he sucks a hickey into the pale skin between Hank’s pelvis and thigh and makes him hiss and jerk. 

“You work so hard and do so much good, Lieutenant,” Connor murmurs, splayed out between Hank’s legs now. He presses his face against Hank’s cock and nuzzles it lovingly before raising his head again, dark eyes sleepy and full of wanting. “I think you’re ready for your surprise, now.” 

Hank swallows dryly, tongue feeling too thick for his mouth. He’s aching hard, now, and can hardly see anything in the room beyond Connor’s face with his blood pressure thumping in his ears. It’s all faded out, narrowed down into the single most important thing in his life for the past seven years. 

“Show me, baby,” he rasps, reaching for any part of Connor he can get. “Please.” 

Connor rises up on his knees and hooks his thumbs under the waistband of his shorts, pulling the black satin down over his narrow hips. He slips out of them, graceful as a swan, and tosses the underwear somewhere to the side. Hank wasn’t paying attention, because he’s too busy staring at the pristine, tiny little cock Connor’s installed for the occasion. Sweet and pink and just big enough for a mouthful, untouched by anybody else until now. 

“Oh, look at you,” Hank rumbles, reaching out the same moment Connor presses himself back into Hank’s arms. “Precious,” he says as he gropes Connor’s little dick, gently biting against the side of Connor’s throat. “Spoiling an old man, huh?” 

“I think you may _like_ being a dirty old man,” Connor whispers, though he reaches down and takes Hank’s cock in hand to guide it back toward the hole behind his perfectly smooth taint, already leaking clear lubrication fluid onto Hank’s thigh. “You’re still gonna fill me up, right Lieutenant?” Connor asks, teasing the tip along the wet seam of his ass. “Fuck me open with your big cock.”   
  
“Yes,” Hank growls, tendons in his neck straining now as his fingers dig into the synth skin on Connor’s thighs hard enough to make circles of white bloom there. “You’d better hurry up and sit on it before I flip you over and do it myself.” 

“You’re strong enough to do it,” Connor says, breath catching high in his throat as the head of Hank’s cock slides past the outer rim of his hole. “You could do whatever you wanted to me.” 

“Fuck, _Jesus_ ,” Hank grits out, breathing hard through his nose as Connor slowly sinks down one searing inch at a time. It never seems to end, that tight hot stretch, and Hank nearly feels his eyes roll back when Connor takes him up to the hilt and sits there flush in his lap. 

For his own part, Connor’s former resolve of saintly calm seems to have cracked a little at the edges. His mouth has dropped open, hair fallen over his forehead, dark lashes fluttering as he grinds himself down even more like he just wants to feel Hank that deep in his gut wires. He rocks in place and braces his hands on Hank’s chest, letting out a low, rasping whine when Hank reaches down to stroke his little cock. 

“C’mere,” Hank says, tipping his head up and bringing Connor’s face down for a kiss, wedding ring pressed along the curve of his jaw. “You gonna move after all this fuss tonight, or do I gotta prove I still got it?” 

“I already know you do, Hank,” Connor says, dick-dazed as he is. He raises up an inch and drops back down, hands trailing up Hank’s chest to push his shoulders back against the solid headboard. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you all n-night.” 

Connor bites into his bottom lip and squeezes his eyes shut tight, then lets his head loll back some as he starts rocking there in Hank’s lap. He’s so beautiful to watch like this, Hank can’t help but stare. It’s almost like seeing Connor take his cock for the first time all over again.

“You’re too good to me,” Hank says, leaning in close to growl the words against Connor’s pale throat. “Let me unwrap my own present, now.” 

When Hank shifts to move Connor wraps his legs around his waist and arms around his neck, holding on tight as Hank twists them around and drops him back down into the middle of the soft bed. His dick slipped most of the way out but it doesn’t take much to line back up, and with one solid thrust he drives back into Connor’s ass hard enough that his balls slap white plastic.

“Hank!” Connor half-shouts, one hand scrabbling up his husband’s broad back as the other reaches behind to brace against the headboard. “Oh _fuck_.”

Connor’s already a mess—still in his socks and garters, legs and torso mottled between clean white and pale skin where his chassis has begun to shine through in all the places Hank’s fingers and body have touched. This might’ve been an unexpected turn of events, or maybe it wasn’t at all. Regardless of the outcome, Connor helps Hank hook one leg over his shoulder and lets himself get pounded into the mattress with the steadfast determination to nonetheless carry out his mission. 

“This is what you wanted, huh?” Hank says, breathing heavily as he splits Connor open on his cock. “What you’ve been thinking about all night.” 

“Y- _yes_ ,” Connor gasps, mindlessly nodding even as he gets rocked up against the headboard. He opens his eyes, wet with saline, and the sight makes Hank’s poor old heart stutter. “You. Just you.” 

“Shit, honey,” Hank croaks, immediately slowing some. Connor makes a sound of protest until Hank is folding him partway in half, dropping his weight down into Connor’s arms so they’re pressed close, nose to nose. Connor immediately wraps his arms around Hank, keeps him there, makes the sweetest little sound when Hank grinds deeper into his hole. 

“This is what I mean,” Connor says, wrapping his hands around the muscle in Hank’s upper arm, then up to his shoulders, down his chest. When he gropes along the side of Hank’s belly again it makes Hank’s hips falter, ticklish enough that he laughs and leans forward to drop a lopsided kiss on Connor's face. 

“Perfect just like you are,” Connor murmurs, reaching up to cup Hank’s jaw. “My handsome Lieutenant.” 

He holds Hank’s face there even as their pace picks up speed again, and gradually all words and thoughts beyond the raw heat rolling off each other are scattered away. When Hank looks into Connor’s eyes he can see the shadow of his own reflection there, soaking in the kind of unbridled devotion that scares the living shit out of him. But he doesn’t think about that and what it means, simply holds Connor tight and fucks him like he means it until he feels himself unraveling towards an end. 

Connor holds on by a thread, voice glitching on consonants, system fans whirring frantically. The synth skin between his thighs clear up to his belly has receded in full to cool white, and Hank wants to kiss every inch of that, later, when they’ve calmed down and Connor spreads out on the bed in his most natural form. That’s a gift in itself—perhaps Hank’s greatest reward for making 60 long trips around the sun.

No, he thinks, crushing their mouths together in the last few moments before he comes. There’s no perhaps about it. 

Connor lets go when he feels release break through Hank’s body, clenching down the same second Hank goes balls-deep and pumps him full of hot cum. Their bodies lock up and then sag with the relief of it, twitching and flinching as they slowly come down. Hank stays where he is until he hears Connor’s internal fan begin to slow, and then he carefully rolls to one side with a grunt, bringing Connor with him. 

He’s sweaty and wrecked and his knees still ache, but it’s worth it. Always will be worth it, so long as Connor’s wrapped up in his arms. 

“Happy Birthday, Hank,” Connor whispers, leaving feather-light kisses at the height of Hank’s cheekbone. “I love you.” 

“Love you, baby,” Hank mumbles, though his voice immediately widens into a long yawn. He’s bone tired and the urge to move anywhere at all has completely flown away, but he smiles and pushes his fingers back through Connor’s hair to cradle the back of his head. “You gonna carry your old man downstairs in the morning?” 

“Yes,” Connor says, humming with love and contentment all over. His LED circles blue, blue, blue, a lasting testament to Hank’s favorite color. “You know I will.” 

  
  



End file.
